Zounds

Because Big Angry Sky Daddy can go get stuffed.

I like, on occasion, to dabble in blasphemy,
Trash talking everyone’s heavenly friend.
It’s hard to explain the appeal that it has for me;
Maybe it’s ‘cause I think God’s just pretend.

The truly devout won’t speak ill of their deity;
Even when, by Satan’s will, they’re enticed
To scream in a fit of enraged spontaneity;
“JESUS HAITCH SON OF THE MOTHER OF CHRIST!"

But I’m free to cast doubt on Mary’s virginity,
Doodle Mohammed on paper for fun,
Make farting sounds while invoking the Trinity,
Parody priests or make fun of a nun;

Tinker with gluttony, envy or vanity;
Shout out “GODDAMMIT!” or “CHRIST ON A BIKE!”;
Spew forth tirades peppered thick with profanity;
Where and whenever I bloody well like.